Fractured
by unholytrifecta
Summary: Rachel Berry's world is shaken, and pieces of her sanity are shattered in the aftermath. Faberry, with references to Brittana. Rated M for language and graphic imagery. Complete, but tempted to write more.


**Author**: EtherealPhoenix  
><strong>Title<strong>: Fractured  
><strong>Rating<strong>: M [For language and graphic imagery]  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Rachel Berry's world is shaken, and pieces of her sanity are shattered in the aftermath.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do **not** own Glee.

**Author's Note**: Prior warning, this fic is rather…disturbing. Writing Russell literally made me sick. -shudder- Semi-canon compliant, as far as the characters' personal backgrounds go. However, Quinn was never pregnant, and thus never kicked out - so I suppose this is considered an AU. Even though I changed the course of events, I still tried to adhere to characterization as best as I could, so constructive criticism is welcome if needed. Also, I didn't do the typical italicized flashback, because it's a _long _flashback. xD Hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Fractured<strong>

**January 18****th****, 2011 - Present Day**

Rachel Berry's curiosity had gotten the best of her. This was only the second time she had been in the Fabray household, and the grandeur of it all still amazed her. The mansion was eerily silent, aside from the rhythmic tapping of the brunette's Mary Janes on the polished hardwood floor as she progressed down the hallway. She looked upwards, staring at the crystal-laden chandelier that lit the path in front of her. Brown eyes shifted to her right, analyzing the professional portrait on the wall. Rachel presumed that it had to have been taken at least two years ago - the eldest Fabray child had moved out sometime around then.

A stern-faced man, with his perfectly combed - yet noticeably graying - hair. His blue eyes seemed sunken with age, and his expression was smug even when captured on canvas.

His wife, showing pearly white teeth that probably cost a small portion of the house to maintain. An equally expensive string of pearls were draped along her collarbone. Blonde hair was pulled into a flawless bun.

Two shorter girls stood on either side of them. The older of the two was a carbon copy of her mother, down to the practiced façade of happiness. If it was even possible, her smile was even more obviously forced than her parents'. Rachel was once told that Frannie was the perfect Fabray daughter, and she had no reason to disagree. She'd perfected the art of bottling her emotions, hiding behind a solid mask of indifference.

And then there was _her_. Rachel snapped her gaze away immediately, but shuddered in silence as too-familiar hazel eyes bored into her back.

"Stop staring at me," she muttered, walking away.

She turned and walked through the arch, leading to the dining room. She examined the room in awe, letting her fingers absentmindedly skim over the large mahogany table. She couldn't feel anything, of course. But the rubber gloves were a necessity she couldn't afford to go without.

Sighing and shaking her head, Rachel headed towards the staircase leading to the basement.

She didn't even spare a glance at the woman lying messily on the couch, with her head lolled to the side and arm dangling limply over the edge, or the collection of pearls scattered on the floor.

* * *

><p>The basement was immaculate. The entire floor was covered in wooden panels. An inordinate amount of bookshelves were stacked side by side, covering the far wall, only stopping to frame the brick fireplace built into the center, which was currently lit.<p>

But none of that held Rachel's attention. Her eyes were trained onto the man in the center of the room. Kneeling, with his hands bound behind his back, and one wrist handcuffed to a coffee table.

She shook the head of the Fabray household by the shoulder, smiling serenely as his eyelids fluttered open. "Wake up. I _will_ play my collection of Barbra Streisand's greatest hits at full volume if I have to, but I feel as if that would defeat the suspenseful, macabre atmosphere I've put so much effort in creating."

"…What?"

"Mister Fabray? Actually, I'll be taking the liberty of calling you Russell. I understand that you are suitably confused with the current situation. I would be a terrible person to deny you an explanation, so we'll get to that later on."

Russell's eyes widened in recognition as he stared at the girl in front of him. His expression quickly shifted from confusion to rage. "You're the Berry girl."

Rachel hadn't faltered, and clapped her hands together in delight. "Ah, I see you _do_ remember me. Which is quite surprising, actually, considering that our last meeting ended on a less than pleasant note."

"How did you get into my house? And where's Judy? Where's my wife?"

Rachel walked over to the table, where a travel-sized black carrying case sat. She silently fished out a small bottle from one of its side pockets and tossed it into the air, catching it with ease. "Chloroform is quite potent, you know. She's upstairs. Before you ask, she's unconscious, but alive. I don't hold any personal vendetta against _her_."

"Why are you doing this?"

Something finally cracked in Rachel's tranquil expression. A growl ripped out of the back of her throat, and she stepped forward, eyes blazing. "You _know_ why!"

* * *

><p><strong>September 23<strong>**rd****, 2010**

Rachel lounged on a couch in the Fabrays' family room, threading her fingers through the shoulder-length blonde hair of the girl leaning against her chest.

"Short hair suits you, Quinn. Remind me to thank Santana for agreeing to be your personal hairdresser."

Quinn Fabray gave a light chuckle. "Sure thing, Rach. But don't blame me if your gratitude ends up making her nauseous. I thanked her for it, and if I remember correctly, she said, _'Whatever, Q. The only reason that I even agreed to this is because I know that your uptight parents are secretly pissed off about it. Don't think I forgot about that crack on Britt they made last week when I stayed for dinner.'_"

"They insulted Brittany?" Rachel asked, genuinely surprised. Everyone loved Brittany.

"They may have not-so-subtly implied that she was too dumb to graduate with us next year, and that they'd gladly pay for a remedial summer course. It was definitely enough to set Santana off - I had to stop her before she threw herself across the table."

It was Rachel's turn to laugh. "Typical Santana. She would defend Brittany with her life. …Your home is exquisite, by the way. I had been wondering when I would get to see it."

A regretful look crossed Quinn's face, and a beat passed in silence. "I'm so sorry, Rachel. You know how my parents would react if-"

"Shh. I didn't mean anything by it. I was simply curious, that's all," Rachel explained, massaging the girl's cheek reassuringly with her thumb.

Just then, their peace was interrupted by the sound of a key rattling in the front door's lock. The two girls hurriedly rushed to change their positions into something much less intimate as Russell Fabray entered the house.

"Afternoon, Quinnie," he muttered, hanging his jacket on the coat rack. "I got held up at work, and your mother's still off with her book club…who's this?"

"Daddy, this is Rachel Berry. We're helping each other with a song for glee club," Quinn explained, shooting a quick look to the girl in question.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fabray," Rachel greeted with a beaming smile.

Russell gave a curt nod, but failed to return the sentiment. "Quinn? Could you join me in the dining room for a moment?"

Quinn glanced at Rachel with a raised eyebrow, receiving a small shrug of confusion. The blonde rose and joined her father in the kitchen. "What's wrong?"

Russell turned around, his lips pressed into a tight line. "I don't want her in this house."

"Daddy…"

_No_, Quinn. You think I don't know who she was raised by? That she's the spawn of those two _aberrations_ to society? I don't want that type of influence in my house! Who knows what twisted morals she has in that head of hers," he spat out.

"But you don't even _know _her! Don't you_ ever_ talk about her that way!"

"It doesn't _matter_, Quinn! Her kind is all the same. They're damned in the eyes of God, and I won't allow this…this _blasphemy_ into my house! Watch your tone around me, young lady. Since when did you even start associating with this girl?"

Quinn had grown increasingly irritated as her father had gone on with his rant, and she'd finally reached her breaking point. When she finally spoke, her best head bitch expression was plastered onto her face, and her voice was low. "Oh, I'm not sure, Daddy. Since eighth grade. And I treated her like _shit_, because you had it planted in my head that anyone even remotely different deserved to be kicked around like they were worthless."

"_Lucy Quinn Fabray-_"

"No. You're listening to _me_ now. I've spent seventeen years dealing with your shit, and look at where it almost got me. Do you know what '_that girl_' has been through? Because of you, I made her the prime target of the jocks. Because of you, I made it my mission to break her spirit, one slushie at a time. And it made me _sick_. How could I destroy a girl like Rachel, just because she had two fathers? She was a good person. And how could I judge her parents? I didn't know them. And then I realized that the problem wasn't her - it was _me_. It finally hit me how much I admired her courage, her loyalty, her optimism…and I'd tried to demolish it all." Quinn looked utterly revolted with herself, but took a breath and continued.

"But I thought that maybe, just _maybe_, I could prove that I'm not as much of an _asshole_ as you. So I apologized, hoping that the damage could be reversed. And she forgave me - after everything I put her through, she _forgave_ me. That's when I realized how much of a monster I was, all because of you and your beliefs. She was beautiful and passionate and she deserved so much _more _than me. I'm still trying to make up for it. I stopped playing by your rules eight months ago, _Daddy_. I'm _gay_. Rachel Berry is my girlfriend, and I'm _never_ hurting her again."

Unbeknownst to them both, Rachel's back was pressed against the opposite side of the wall, one hand over her heart and her mouth parted in shock.

Russell looked at a loss for words, but suddenly looked furious and stormed out of the room, spinning around to glare at the short girl. "_You_. You _corrupted_ my daughter! Your entire family is going to hell!" He stepped forward, towering over the brunette, his hand poised to strike.

"Get _away_ from her!" Quinn shouted, but her expression softened when she turned to her girlfriend and gently pulled her away from the wall. "We're leaving, Rach. I don't want you down here, so go upstairs to my room. Turn right; it's at the end of the hallway. I'll be up soon - I need to pack some things, anyway."

Rachel, who was stunned into silence, nodded and hastily ran for the stairs.

"What do you mean, you're _leaving?"_

"I'm not going to stand here and let you treat her this way. Mother may have no backbone, but I do. Thanks for that, by the way; I really appreciate your genetics for that one," Quinn retorted, turning to follow behind Rachel.

Russell thundered up the stairs behind the girls. "Quinn, get back here!" he roared, his hand shooting out to grasp her wrist and yank her backwards just as she reached the top step.

Quinn spun on her heel, and futilely reached out for Rachel. Instead of making contact with warm skin, her hand clutched at empty air.

Russell pulled his hand away, his mind processing the events just before they happened.

Thrown off balance, she felt her breath catch in her throat as gravity worked against her. Hazel eyes widened in fear and she screamed, barely registering that someone else's voice mingled with hers.

"_QUINN_!"

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

So much hatred was radiating from Rachel that the older man visibly shrunk under her withering gaze.

The confrontation was interrupted as the girl suddenly stepped backwards, clearing her throat. "Composure, Rachel," she muttered, returning to her cordial smile. "Tell me, Russell, how long has it been?" she asked.

"Four months."

"No, you're wrong. It's been three months and twenty-seven days - exactly one hundred and eighteen days, if you prefer. She's been in a coma for _one hundred and eighteen __**fucking**__ days_, Russell," she reminded him, as if they were having a casual conversation.

Strolling over to the table, she unzipped the carrying case, revealing a collection of assorted scalpels. Retrieving the one with the largest blade, she twirled it between her first two fingers. "As you may or may not be aware, my dad - meaning Hiram, the Jewish one - is a doctor. On the other hand, my daddy, Leroy, is a police officer. Therefore, I like to think that I possess a vast array of medical and forensic knowledge. It was certainly simple enough to find both of their emergency supply sets. Imagine my surprise to learn that Dad kept a tranquilizer in his case."

Russell felt the dull twinge of a muscle in his thigh where the needle must have been injected. His face was impassive, but Rachel knew she had shaken him. It took something monumental to strike fear into this man, but sure enough, this teenaged girl had done it. "What are you going to do? Kill me?"

"I find that far too anticlimactic at this point in time. I stood by and watched while my girlfriend was scanned, tested, and injected. You walked free, of course, because with the Fabray legacy came the best lawyer money could buy. And the injustice of that is quite appalling. I think you should know that I've compiled a thorough and organized list of ways in which to torture you - it's currently hidden in my room, but I've long since committed it to memory. At the moment, I have one hundred and eighteen methods. Fitting, don't you think?"

Before he could say another word, the scalpel was draped over his shoulder, the curve of the blade digging into the dip between his shoulder blade and spine. Rachel slowly and deliberately dragged the scalpel upwards and over, cutting an arc from back to front. Russell let out a strangled cry, and Rachel watched intently as a line of blood seeped from the injury into his blue button-down shirt. She imagined the rivulet of blood that was running down his back at the very moment.

One cut to his left bicep. Another to his cheek. Yet another, very shallowly, along the path where his jaw connected to his throat.

Hisses. Groans. Rachel swore she even saw the man shed a tear. But to his credit, he never screamed.

Rachel admired her work. Neat little strokes of crimson painted his skin. And she _smiled_. "Do you want to know the funny thing? What you're going through right now? It doesn't even come _close_ to what I'm feeling. Consider yourself lucky."

A hand rested on her shoulder, warm breath drifting across her ear.

"Rach, don't you think that's enough?"

Rachel's hand stilled just before the blade pressed to Russell's wrist, and trembled. "_Quinn_?"

"Hi, baby. You can stop now. C'mon, give it to me," Quinn murmured, closing her palm over the smaller girl's. Rachel surrendered the blade, spun around, and collapsed into her arms.

Russell stirred as the object clattered on the floor. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. The blood loss was getting to him, but he could faintly distinguish the blurred figure of the Berry girl, with her arms wrapped around herself.

Tears welled in Rachel's eyes as she kissed the corners of Quinn's mouth, then her nose. She chuckled tearfully. "Your hair's long again. You should call Santana."

"Why? I like it this way."

"…What? Quinn, you _hate_ your hair like this. You've told me numerous times."

Quinn wore her best Fabray sneer, her eyes cold. "No, Rachel. _You_ hated my hair like this. _You_ turned me into something that I'm not. _You_ screwed up my life. You turned me against my family!"

"Quinn, what's going on?" Rachel asked hesitantly. "Why are you saying these things? You're scaring me…"

"Listen, Berry. _I never loved you_. I don't know what kind of mind control you put me under, but I've finally come to my senses. Stay away from me, freak. Let's get one thing straight, Man Hands. You are _worthless. No one will ever love you_. Got it?"

Tears were flowing down Rachel's cheeks now. She reached out for Quinn's hand in desperation. This was a joke. This _had_ to be a joke. She'd gotten out of the hospital, and the glee club put her up to this to get a few laughs. Quinn wasn't serious. Right?

Rachel took her hand, and looked up to search for any hint of amusement, only to stare in terror at what she saw.

Quinn was just as she'd been in sophomore year - dressed to the nines in her Cheerios uniform, with the ponytail and grimace to match. She snatched her hand away from Rachel's as if she'd been burned.

And then she was gone.

Rachel hit the floor, sobbing Quinn's name over and over again. She let out a frustrated scream that echoed throughout the basement. Her fist hit the floor with a smack, and she took a deep breath before exhaling. She swiped the discarded scalpel off of the floorboards and stood, whirling around to face Russell while shaking with rage.

"Do you see what you did to me, Russell? Do you see what you _fucking _did to me? I loved her, and you _took her away_. You took her. You took her and she's never coming back." Her voice trembled, her mutterings fading to a barely audible pitch. Sometime during that rant, the blade of the weapon she held ended up positioned between his eyes. Russell could only stare helplessly.

A manic giggle bubbled in Rachel's throat and poured out from her lips. She was a wreck, with tear streaks and bloodshot eyes. "You know? You were right about one thing. I'm gay, and after this - assuming that I shared your opinion that there _is_ a hell - I'm most likely going to it. But guess what?"

In one swift motion, the scalpel had lowered to the left side of his chest and lodged itself into his heart. Russell coughed, and a splatter of blood sprinkled Rachel's shirt. She smiled calmly.

"I'll see you there."

As the light in his eyes died, so did Rachel's joy. Once more on a mission, she walked to the nearest bathroom, grabbing a bottle of bleach and a rag from the cabinet underneath the sink. Returning to the basement, she sidestepped Russell's limp body and meticulously began scrubbing the bloodstains off of the floor. After finishing that, she extracted the scalpel from the man's chest and sterilized it thoroughly. She removed the soiled, oversized t-shirt that covered her normal clothes and wrapped the rag in it, tossing them both into the flames. Repacking the blade and her daddy's spare handcuffs, she headed upstairs, but didn't leave.

There was one last thing she had to do.

Climbing the second set of stairs, she turned right and headed into the room on the end.

It was utterly untouched, which was the odd thing. Judy must have cleaned it in preparation for her daughter's eventual return home. The thought irritated Rachel. This was the _Fabray_ version of perfection, not Quinn's. She felt the strong urge to rearrange the books that were neatly stacked on Quinn's desk, open her laptop the slightest bit, or mess up her covers. But she couldn't afford to leave any trace of evidence.

Rachel's gaze shifted to the vanity across from Quinn's bed. She stared into it, scrutinizing her worn out appearance. She caught a flash of blonde and hazel behind her right shoulder, and a tender smile eased its way onto her face as the image faded. Quinn.

_Her_ Quinn.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your keys. I'll bring them back to you before you wake up."

She closed the door, went back downstairs, disposed of her gloves, and left the Fabray mansion without looking back.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Um, yeah. I really can't form a suitable comment. So…review, please?  
>By the way, a note on why Russell tried to stop her: he definitely would have kicked Quinn out anyway, but he hated not being in control of the situation.<br>-EtherealPhoenix.


End file.
